


The Least He Can Do

by Doctor_Benzedrine



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: 1 am fictlet, Character Study, Human is mourning, Other, Prowl is nice to a human, self insert if you squint, thats all that happens here, thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13569381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Benzedrine/pseuds/Doctor_Benzedrine
Summary: He’s tired. Prowl is tired - all of these simultaneous missions are wearing him out. He needs a break and he finds it where he least expects it.





	The Least He Can Do

It’s quiet. There’s a reddish, orange glow draped across the sky - evening, or perhaps early morning. The mech is unsure. That old phrase about sailors leaves him, anyways. Here, he may finally get some peace and quiet - away from the hustle and bustle of Detroit’s busy streets, away from his endless, exhausting missions. Now he can finally think. 

This is a cemetery, where humans come to mourn and presumably think. They grieve and come to terms with the fact that they have lost loved ones. He can respect that. There’s a calming presence abundant, as he finds himself draped underneath a tree a top a hill. Around him are graves, lined with the names of loved ones. How respectful. How odd.

He’s used to human beings’ busy lives at this point. The autonomous robot has lived on Earth long enough to understand that no one cares about much of anything - sometimes not even themselves, or occasionally, they care too much about themselves. A chuckle escapes as he can think of several colleagues, or antagonistic figures that description may relate to. However, this is different. It’s almost as if they’re considerate of each other’s feelings here, considerate of their surroundings, organic life. 

A bird chirps in the tree a top his head, as his smile grows. Peaceful, serene - he thinks he might like it here. With an exasperated sigh, the autobot relaxes, sliding into a more comfortable position where he may close his eyes - err optics. This is fine and oddly soothing, to the point where the cyber-ninja thinks he may be able to rest here, to have a lengthy stasis nap and ignore his responsibilities. 

Drifting - he’s gone. It’s over for the mech, that is until he hears the distinctive sound of someone humming - a human. Awaking, he plops upwards. They’re alone, a book in hand. Their cellular device is playing music - a certain kind he’s never heard before. The melody is pleasant. The performer is theatrical, as well as the human. Finally, the song ends. The human sits downwards, their hair and jacket flapping through the wind akin to the book they’re holding. He swears he can hear them giggle as they chase after the book and retrieve it, sitting on top of it. Then, it begins. Singing, the mech determines, was the prelude to this performance. They begin to speak. 

It’s to their grandfather. They speak incredibly passionately about memories once held - about thoughts and feelings running through their head. It’s as though he’s still here. They pretend that he is. Then, their voice breaks. They’re struggling now, he can tell, to keep composure, but they let loose. They cry. 

Believing that no one is around, they utter terrible falsities, including the dreaded, ‘you wouldn’t be proud of me,’ or worse ‘I’m worth nothing, what’s the point in continuing forwards if I will never become as great and wonderful as you are?’ 

He can relate in some cases to the feeling of being in another’s shadow - the feeling of wanting to impress, or even to be something extraordinary, whenever you can’t see these things in yourself. They’re frustrating thoughts that the autonomous figure would never share with anymore - or maybe he will, just this once. 

Slowly, he approaches the distraught human, holding out a comforting [autobot anatomy is weird] hand.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” he begins, a soft tone of voice, “but I disagree with your statements about yourself.” 

The human is most definitely embarrassed, quickly wiping away tears from their face. “I-I’m sorry you had to hear that. I didn’t know anyone was-“ 

He stops her, a comforting smile upon his face. “The way that you speak so passionately proves that you are more than your statements about yourself, and I am sure, I am entirely positive, that your grandfather would be proud of the individual you’ve become. It’s difficult to feel as though you are insignificant, or anxious in today’s trying times. However, I urge you, take those feelings and push them aside. Remember that you were put here for a reason, and you must fulfill your duty to the best of your abilities. You are exceptionally gifted, and you may falter, but that does not say anything of your character, or who you are as an individual. Take the time to analyze why you’re here, what your purpose is, and realize, that ultimately, we can find beauty in all things, including ourselves.” He finishes his monologue as the human smiles and nods, thanking him. They’re speechless. They embrace the clever autobot and run away, book in hand. 

Prowl takes his own advice. This world may be a difficult place to live in, but it’s his home, and he’s come to terms with this. He isn’t an Ultra Magnus, but he does have a voice, thoughts, feelings of his own. He will use these and make this busy Earth that he currently resides upon a better place. It’s the least he can do.

**Author's Note:**

> I was depressed and lonely whenever this was written, aha. I was feeling kind of self conscious about my writing and had to publish some content to my blog for English class, as well as missing my grandfather - so naturally this happened. I hope you were able to find some comfort in it, as I did.


End file.
